


Visiting Hours

by TheReluctantShipper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (not between dean and cas), Abused Dean Winchester, Alternate Universe - Human, Author has Very Little Idea how the Justice System Works, Biting, Emotional Dean Winchester, Happy Valentines Day Dean and Cas, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Needy Dean Winchester, Obsessed Castiel, Panty Kink, Past Abuse, Rough Sex, Serial Killer Castiel (Supernatural), She got it all from TV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-15 07:23:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17524346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheReluctantShipper/pseuds/TheReluctantShipper
Summary: Visitor Information for Lawrence Correctional Facility- Please seeVisitor Schedulefor the rotating schedule for visitation per cell block.- Please seeVisitation Conduct Gudelinesfor information about permissible conduct during your visit.- Please seeVisitation Dress Codefor a list of acceptable attire to wear during your visit.Inmates are encouraged to maintain close relationships with family, friends, and business associates through the inmate visitation program.(Dean is the church Castiel worships at now, the only institution worthy of his time. Dean is his higher calling, his system of morality, the singular point which his entire universe revolves around.)





	Visiting Hours

**Author's Note:**

> \- This is (obviously) a work of fanfiction. I don't own anything but the original characters. I don't claim ownership over the characters or storyline of the TV show Supernatural, no matter how grateful I am for them, which is hella.
> 
> \- Thanks to the Sister Husbands, who are my best friends in the whole world, and happen to be gracious enough to also beta most of my works for me. I don't know what I'd do without you girls, but I certainly wouldn't be doing this.
> 
> \- You can come see me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thereluctantshipper) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/TheReluctantSh1?s=09) if me sharing fan edits and bitching about writer's block floats your boat.
> 
> \- I come by any mistakes here honestly, but feel free to point them out so I can correct them.
> 
> \- Anything relating to the justice system I learned from watching crime documentaries on Netflix. So if those aren't accurate, suspend disbelief with me.
> 
> \- So I don't actually have this big of a problem with any of the Winchesters, but that's the way the story fell.
> 
> \- Feedback is life.
> 
>  **\- TRIGGER WARNING** in the end notes. Please scroll down to read it or proceed with caution.

Three pounding knocks on the door disturb the midmorning peace.

Castiel Novak, who has been waiting patiently for this moment, takes a deep breath, schools his features into an expression of polite confusion, and opens it.

Standing on the other side of his front door is the familiar face of Detective Victor Henriksen, as well as two men in standard police uniforms. Henriksen’s own face is impassive, but his dark eyes burn in triumph.

“Detective Henriksen,” Castiel says with an impersonal smile. “How may I help you?”

Henriksen’s own smile would be more at home on a shark in pursuit of blood in the water. “Castiel Novak, it is my _absolute_ pleasure to put you under arrest for the murders of Azazel Masters, Alastair Racque, Fergus Crowley, and multiple others.”

Castiel’s eyebrows go up in surprise, though it’s the furthest thing from an honest reaction. “My God,” he says. “You can’t be serious. What proof do you have?”

Henriksen’s smile doesn’t change. “Let’s talk about that downtown.”

* * *

Honestly, prison isn’t so bad. Castiel has lived in _much_ worse places. Here, it’s just grey stone walls, bright orange jumpsuits, and the constant, low-level noise of living with hundreds of other people in close quarters. It’s not ideal, but again, it’s not the worst place he’s lived in.

His cellmate, a serious, muscular black man named Uriel, is in for murder. Castiel doesn’t have all of the details, but he’s almost certain the man is guilty.

Although, it’s not as if he’s in a position to throw stones. He’s quite guilty, himself.

Regardless, they fall into a mutually beneficial arrangement. He wouldn’t go so far as to call them friends, but they watch one another’s backs at meal, exercise, and shower times. They share books borrowed from the library, too, but interact very little outside of that.

It suits Castiel just fine. He’s not here to make friends. He’s here to send a message.

* * *

And so the time passes, lost to routine and sameness.

* * *

“Novak!” the guard barks. “You got a visitor.”

Castiel’s eyebrows go up in surprise. Three months into his stay here and he has not once had any reason to leave his cell outside of scheduled times.

“Move your ass, inmate!”

Castiel rolls off of his bunk and onto his feet fluidly without looking over at Uriel. Part of their bond was borne of their lack of (tangible) connections to anyone on the outside. This may put a strain on their alliance, but that’s a concern for after visiting hours.

He follows the guard warily. The guards here have little patience for insubordination and a brutal response when they come up against it. Castiel isn’t worried about his ability to overtake the man physically, but he doesn’t fancy a black eye or broken tooth, especially not before his first guest in six months. He is quiet, almost docile, as they make their way to the small room where visits are supervised.

Castiel’s gaze is drawn immediately to a man wearing a hot pink Hawaiian shirt with a flamingo pattern and neon green pants. It makes him roll his eyes as he joins his brother at the metal table.

“Gabriel.”

Gabriel is grinning, but his eyes are hard and sharp. “Cassie! Orange is an _awful_ fucking color on you!”

“Thank you,” Castiel says gravely, ignoring Gabriel’s snort. “What do you want?”

Gabriel leans forward. “I _want_ to know what the _fuck_ we’re doing here.”

“... A message had to be sent.”

“A message to _who?_ The American people? Because message fucking received, bucko.”

“It’s not your concern.”

“Not my…” Gabriel runs a hand down his face. “Jesus _fucking_ Christ, Cassie.”

A pang of… _Something_ makes Castiel’s chest twitch. “I’m… Sorry if this has caused you… Problems.”

Gabriel shrugs. “I can lay low for a while. Won’t kill me.”

It takes a beat, but they both chuckle.

“You’re pretty popular on the outside, you sexy criminal, you.”

Castiel shrugs. “That’s… Disadvantageous, but not a real problem.”

“Nah, it’ll die down.” Gabe waves his hand dismissively. “Who knows, maybe some hotshot, crooked bigwig will go missing soon and you’ll be old news.” The glint in his eye is probably only blatantly obvious to Castiel.

It could still be an issue in the end, but his brother’s carefully worded promise of help makes Castiel relax. “You’re right,” he murmurs. “Thank you.”

Gabriel peers at him curiously. “Is this worth it? I mean… Fuck, Cassie. This is a lot to put on the line. It might not even _work._ Is this… Is _he_ worth it?”

Castiel thinks of red-rimmed green eyes, of shoulders smattered with freckles, of a deep laugh, and the squeeze of a hand twined with his own.

“Without a doubt.”

* * *

_It’s Castiel’s own fault, really. It’s pouring down rain, and in an effort to look presentable for the ethics meeting he’s attending that afternoon, he’s trying to keep his umbrella upright. Unfortunately (or quite fortunately, he’ll muse later), he’s also replying to an email from an overzealous patient, so he’s not paying attention to his surroundings._

_Which is why the solid body he runs right into is such a surprise._

_Neither of them actually fall, which is a minor miracle in itself. The only real casualty is Castiel’s shirt, which is immediately soaked in hot coffee._

_He yelps and looks up at the person he collided with, unsure yet if he intends to react with anger._

Oh, my.

_Green eyes are wide with horror as they stare back at him. The boy is thin, too thin, but it makes his cheekbones glow._

Wait, no.

_No, that’s a fading bruise on his cheek, almost entirely healed. He’s also wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt, even though the humid summer air has even Castiel sweating, despite the rain. He holds himself tentatively, fearfully. Most damning, however, is the way those pretty eyes are filling with panic-stricken tears._

_“Oh,” the young man whimpers. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry. Oh, Jesus, I’m so sorry, God, your shirt, I totally ruined your shirt.” His hands shake violently, visibly. “I’m so, so sorry, oh, God, I-”_

_A protective instinct he didn’t think he possessed flares to life hotly in Castiel’s chest. “Hush, now,” he says gently, slipping his phone into his pocket slowly. “It’s all right, no real harm done.” He takes a risk and steps closer, and though the boy is clearly abused, he doesn’t so much as flinch._ Too panicked, _Castiel thinks. He makes sure to cover them both with the umbrella._

_“Hey,” he murmurs, low and comforting. “Nothing happened, you’re all right. I’m all right, it’s okay.” He ducks down until watery eyes meet his. “We’re all right, okay?”_

_The boy nods slowly. “... Yeah,” he says breathily. “Yeah, okay.”_

_Castiel smiles. “Good, good. What’s your name, love?” The endearment slips out without his permission._

_Wide eyes stay locked onto his. “Dean,” he whispers. “Dean Winchester.”_

_Castiel purses his lips. “Forgive me, as I know this is a bit forward, but… Dean,_ are _you all right?”_

_A short, silent eternity passes before Dean answers, almost a relieved sigh rather than a response._

_“No, not really.”_

_Castiel expected as much. He smiles kindly. “May I take you back in to replace your coffee, then? And, perhaps, you may unburden yourself?”_

_Another small lifetime passes._

_“Yeah,” Dean says softly. “Please.”_

* * *

After Gabriel’s visit, life goes back to monotonous predictability. Castiel is grateful to find that his arrangement with Uriel doesn’t change in the least. The man continues to get no visitors, but he doesn’t seem to hold it against Castiel.

Gabriel doesn’t visit again, but Castiel didn’t expect him to. The only serial killers who belong in prisons, after all, are those who get caught.

* * *

_If he had the capacity to feel nervous, Castiel assumes that he would be rather fidgety as he walks up the front steps of the modest home to pick up Dean for their first date._

_The address is in a decent neighborhood, though the house is a bit small. Smaller than Castiel would have expected for a four-person family, anyway. He wonders which child got the short end of the bedroom deal in a home this small._

I suppose I’ll find out.

_He raises his fist to knock, but the door opens before he makes contact. Dean blinks, then offers a shy smile. Castiel returns it, albeit less bashfully, and moves back so Dean can step out and close the door behind him._

_In a green button-up shirt and dark jeans, Dean looks spectacular, but there’s a line of tension in his shoulders. Castiel feels his smile dim._

_“Is everything all right, Dean?”_

_The boy nods. “Yeah. We can go.”_

_Castiel cannot imagine letting someone as precious as Dean just_ leave _with a stranger, and an older one, at that. He smiles and says with a teasing note, “No cavalry at the door, then?”_

_There are shadows in Dean’s eyes when they dart back to the door. “Uh, no.” Then, quieter, “They don’t care.”_

_The simple, stark ache in the words infuriates Cas._ How? _How could anyone see Dean at all, much less live with him, and not feel profoundly affected by him immediately?_

A problem for another day.

_Instead, Castiel pushes his anger away and maintains his easy smile. “Well, then,” he says when Dean looks at him again, “I’ll get to have you all to myself.”_

_Dean’s subsequent smile and blush are worth it._

* * *

A few weeks pass before Castiel gets another visitor. He is just surprised this time as he was the first.

He’s even _more_ surprised when he sees who has come to visit him.

Mary Winchester looks much as she did when they first met, fleeting and seemingly without any significance for her. Pale, thin but not terribly so, blonde, and with a sort of pinched look to her face that just keeps her from being truly lovely. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, hanging in waves to just below her breasts. She’s wearing a white blouse and black slacks. Her hands are clenched together on the table.

Castiel takes the seat across from her and steeples his fingers. He stays quiet because he has nothing to say to this vile woman.

Finally, after silent minutes, she speaks.

“Castiel.”

He nods. “Mary.”

Her face twists. _“Mrs. Winchester.”_

He nods again, unbothered. “Very well. What can I do for you, Mrs. Winchester?”

“I wanted to look at your face when I tell you this.”

“And what is that?”

“Dean is coming home.” Her eyes blaze in triumph. Castiel reflects idly that it makes her rather less attractive than what little appeal she _did_ have. “He’s coming home, and you’re going to rot in here where you belong.”

“So you’ve heard from him? From his own lips that he’s going back to live with you? In a bedroom he must share with his brother? Instead of our apartment, which he currently has all to himself?” He doesn’t bother to hide his incredulity. Her left eye twitches and Castiel fights a smile.

“He will,” Mary snaps. “He’ll come home again.”

“Home,” Castiel says, slowly enough that his disbelief is evident, “where you let that _monster_ torture him?”

 _“You’re_ the monster,” Mary returns, her voice getting louder.

 _“I_ would _never_ hurt Dean,” Castiel says, his own voice brooking no argument. “Or stand idly by while he was _being_ hurt.”

She deflates a little at that. “We didn’t know.” Her words are soft, a bit sad. It’s almost as if she cares about her eldest son. There might even be a hint of regret in her eyes.

Castiel doesn’t buy it, and he scoffs. “Then you weren’t paying attention.”

“He didn’t say anything to us!”

“He didn’t _have_ to say anything to me.”

The rest of their visit and Mary’s departure are silent.

_One message received._

* * *

_“And they just… They didn’t notice. Maybe they didn’t care, even, that he was… That he was hurting me.”_

_They’re sitting side-by-side on Castiel’s bed, the blankets pulled up to their waists. Castiel is looking at Dean, but Dean is looking down in shame as he sheds light on this terrible part of his past._

_Castiel is appalled._ “None _of them?”_

_Dean curls in on himself. “Well, Sammy’s still a kid, but-”_

_The way Dean looks, defensive and small and pained, is not to be tolerated. Castiel moves slowly but with confidence, and Dean allows himself to be pulled against Castiel’s chest._

_“Shh, my love,” he murmurs. “Shh, you’re safe here. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.”_

_Because of his own mother, Castiel is intimately familiar with the mindset of someone being abused by their partner. That Dean, his beautiful Dean, who deserves nothing but everything good the world has to offer, got himself out of it on his own is amazing._

_That he_ had _to is infuriating._

_Dean shudders in his arms. “Alastair,” he whispers. “His name was Alastair.”_

_Castiel thinks about offering to hurt Alastair now, but he stays quiet. Dean is not quite ready for that yet, but maybe soon._

_“You’re safe here,” he repeats instead and vows to himself that he will make sure it’s true._

* * *

The trial begins, and it’s as tedious as Castiel expected it to be.

Watching his “monstrous acts” (the District Attorney is a showman if nothing else) play out before him in crime scene photos and tearful testimonies is rather boring if Castiel is honest. If he were normal, he’s sure it would be devastating. Even as little as a year ago, even, he would probably have been moved by it.

All of that was before Dean, though.

Dean is the church Castiel worships at now, the only institution worthy of his time. Dean is his higher calling, his system of morality, the singular point which his entire universe revolves around. Dean is the sign from a god Castiel has never believed in that Castiel, while maybe not righteous, per se, is worthy of at least a reward.

_And what a reward he is._

Despite how tedious it is, he keeps up his own act of being sickened, concerned, and angry that he’s here. He makes a show of forcing his attorney, Meg (an old friend, ally, and absolute pit bull of a lawyer), to restrain him from standing and attempting to defend himself. He plays his part perfectly. The subtle but satisfied gleam in Meg’s eyes when she glares and hisses at him to sit down tells him so.

_Anything to get back to Dean._

* * *

_“Where were you last night?” Dean’s voice is trembling but firm. Castiel is so proud of him._

_But Dean knows where he was._

_“You already know the answer to that, love.” Castiel is calm as he sets down his duffel bag in the front hall of their now-shared apartment. He almost never brings it home, but he knew tonight would be the night Dean confronted him._

_“That…” Dean swallows hard, but he doesn’t move away when Castiel gets to the end of the hall. He’s defiant and nervous, but not outright afraid. He’s shirtless and wearing a pair of loose pajama pants that Castiel is certain are his own. The dim glow that comes from the light over the sink in the kitchen makes his eyes gleam._

My love.

_“That guy, who tried to… Who tried to attack Jo at the bar,” Dean starts nervously._

_Castiel comes close enough to touch, but refrains. He says nothing._

_“Did you… Hurt him?”_

_Again, Castiel stays silent. He almost never takes a victim with such an obvious, traceable connection to him (or to Dean, but as they are one and the same, or soon will be, the distinction is irrelevant), but it was necessary. He needs Dean to know who,_ what _he is._

_It appears he’s breaking all of his own rules tonight._

_“Do you… Is he the first?”_

_Well. That’s not what Castiel expected. He cocks an eyebrow. “What do you think?”_

_Dean chews on his lip. “You seem pretty calm. And you had a plan.” He takes a deep breath. “So… No. He’s not the first.”_

_This is going exceptionally well. “No, he is not.”_

_“Did you kill him?” Dean, his lovely Dean, is always so wonderfully blunt._

_“I did.” They have no more room for lies or evasions. He will give everything to Dean and let him decide what to do with it. He will accept only Dean as his judge, jury, and executioner._

Oh, how I love him.

_Dean nods. “Okay.” His eyes dart down, then back up. “Can I ask another question?”_

_Castiel reaches up to card his hand through Dean’s hair, completely unable to keep not touching his beautiful boy. His heart thumps hard when Dean tilts his hand into Castiel’s palm._

_“You can ask me anything, you know that.” His voice is rough._

_Dean’s voice, in contrast, is almost shy. “Why didn’t you do that for me?”_

_Every fiber of Castiel’s being stills. He should have known not to underestimate Dean, and now he doesn’t want to miss even the smallest bit about this pivotal moment._

_“What?” he croaks._

_“Why didn’t you do that for me?” Dean asks again. “To Alastair?”_

_Castiel’s answering smile is slow, predatory, and adoring._

_“Oh, my love.”_

* * *

Mere days go by before Castiel is again summed to the visitation room.

 _I’m becoming quite popular,_ he thinks as he lets the guard lead him there.

John Winchester is a big man who sits with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed. He wears old jeans, work boots, and a flannel shirt. He may present himself as a working-class man, but Castiel simply sees a different breed of monster when he looks at John Winchester.

He sits across from John and folds his hands neatly on top of the table. He nods once. “John.”

“What did you do to my son?” John asks without preamble.

 _He’s not yours, he’s mine._ Castiel has to wrestle with his own possessive nature before he can answer. His reply is less than half a beat too late, but John notices, he’s sure.

“I have done nothing to Dean.”

John snorts, an ugly sound. “He was always a pansy, I guess, but he wasn’t disrespectful ‘til you came sniffin’ around.” He leans forward. “So what did you do?”

_I came “sniffing around,” and no one was there to protect him against someone like me. No one even tried. You left him alone in the woods, and now you’re surprised that a wolf has come and taken him._

Castiel says none of that.

“As… _Charming_ as this has been,” Castiel says dryly, “I did nothing to Dean. Perhaps he’s come into his own a bit, but that was all him. I haven’t changed anything about him at all.”

John sneers. “I can’t pin the kid being queer on you, but his goddamn shitty new attitude is you all over, Novak. That stupid little fuck, I should have-”

The _clap_ of Castiel’s hand hitting the metal table is _loud._ The guard straightens up in the corner, but since it’s obvious that Castiel isn’t going to physically attack the man sitting across from him, they remain uninterrupted.

“I would be very careful about my next words if I were you, John.” Castiel’s voice is angry, controlled. He knows that danger drips from every syllable. “Dean means a great deal to me, and I will not tolerate you saying even one more unkind thing about him.”

Castiel is well aware of how disconcerting his stare can be. It’s because it’s flat, dead, completely devoid of emotion. He has used it on each of his victims, as well as other doctors or heads of hospital administration who annoyed him. He’s used it to make Gabriel be quiet on more than one occasion.

Come to think of it, the only person he’s never used it on is Dean.

Now, he stares at John Winchester. A man who abandoned his son to not one villain, but two. A homophobic prick. A man who Castiel knows was not above teaching his children lessons with his fists.

And he stares.

John stares back.

Castiel stares some more, unperturbed.

John breaks. It takes longer than Castiel thought it would, but nowhere near as long as Castiel was willing to keep going. John abruptly pushes his chair back, stands, and walks away. In the minute or so it takes the guard to get the door open, John never looks back at Castiel.

Castiel smiles.

_Another message received._

* * *

“Can you state your name for the record?”

“Pamela Barnes.”

“You were the medical examiner who performed Alastair Racque’s autopsy, correct?”

“Correct.”

“Can you tell me what was ruled as the cause of death?”

“Mr. Racque received multiple stab wounds to the chest, neck, and face. It’s impossible to determine which specific wound was the cause of death. Most likely, it was due to blood loss.”

“Would you say that this killing was more brutal than the other Angel of Thursday killings?”

“Not necessarily.”

“And, like the other victims, he had a criminal record?”

“Uh, I guess. Not really my area of expertise, sugar.”

“Of course, I apologize. Forensically, did anything stand out about Mr. Racque’s murder?”

“No.”

“... So there was nothing at all?”

“Again, no. All of the Angel of Thursday killings were incredibly similar.”

“So you _didn’t_ find hesitation marks on Alastair Racque.”

“Jesus, this again. Look, just like I told your detective, there were no conclusively proven hesitation marks on the body. The damage was too thorough. They could have been simple tearing, for all we can tell.”

“... Thank you, doctor. That will be all.”

* * *

 _The man tied to the table is poison. Even if Castiel wasn’t so in love with Dean, even if he hadn’t been witnessed to this man’s most heinous acts, he would know. He can almost_ smell _it, for fuck’s sake._

 _Castiel stands over Alastair, staring at him almost clinically as he struggles against his binds. The gag muffles his screams, thank_ God. _Castiel would sooner cut out this bastard’s tongue than listen to him snivel._

 _Dean stands next to him, so tense he’s almost trembling. He’s done so well, exceeded every tentative expectation Castiel had for him. He even_ asked for _this, rather than wait for Castiel to offer._

My beautiful, perfect boy.

_They’re both dressed in black from head to toe. They’re in the basement of a suburban home, chosen at random because the residents are out of town on holiday. Castiel doesn’t know when they’re expected back, but it’s not tonight, and that’s enough._

_“Do I have to…” Dean trails off uneasily._

_Castiel shrugs like it doesn’t matter to him. It really doesn’t. “If you like, my love. I would be happy to, however.”_

_“... I should want to, right?” At the emotion in his words, Castiel turns to look, only to find Dean’s eyes already trained on him._

_“Because he hurt me? I should want to kill him, right?” Pleading. Dean is pleading for Cas to tell him what to do._

Oh, my poor boy.

 _Castiel can’t tell Dean which path to choose. Not only does every step he take from here on out_ have _to be Dean’s and Dean’s alone, but it genuinely doesn’t matter to Castiel. Dean can join in on the bloodshed now, later, or never for all Castiel cares. As long as Dean is with him, nothing else matters._

_Still, he can offer comfort. He gathers Dean in his arms, feeling their age difference keenly at the way Dean falls against him._

_“My love,” he whispers into Dean’s soft hair, “I cannot tell you which to choose. I will be here for you every step of the way, though, no matter what. And I will love you through it all.”_

_“... Promise?”_

_Castiel smiles. “With my dying breath, beloved.”_

_Dean stays in the circle of his arms for an indeterminable amount of time before he sighs, nods once to himself, and silently takes up the knife._

* * *

Less than a week goes by before Castiel gets another visitor. He was expecting to wait quite a bit longer. Maybe someday he’ll learn to stop underestimating the Winchester brothers.

Sam Winchester’s face could be carved from granite for all it gives away. That suits Castiel just fine. His features are just as impassive.

They size one another up in silence as Castiel sits down. Sam is just now becoming an adult, a man in his own right. His hair is shaggy (Dean complains about it) and he’s skinny, but his eyes say he’s older than he looks.

Old enough to be accountable for his actions. Or inaction, as it were.

“I’m trying to understand,” Sam finally says softly, “how he can choose someone like _you_ over his family.”

Castiel cocks an eyebrow, but doesn’t move otherwise. “Someone like me?”

Sam frowns. “You’re a serial killer, Mr. Novak.”

The unexpected (and, he’s quite sure, unintended) respect in the way Sam addresses him surprises Castiel. It takes him a beat to respond.

“Am I, now?”

Sam frowns. “Yes. You _hurt_ people.”

“Hmm.” Noncommittal is best. He knows, both from what Dean says and his own observations, that Sam is quite intelligent. Sam knows that Castiel is guilty, that Castiel is what they say he is. There is no point in lying, but neither is there a point in admitting out loud what he is on trial for.

Sam sits forward eagerly. “Then _why_ would he choose _you?”_

“What makes you think he’s chosen me?”

Sam sighs, and it seems that no matter how smart he is, he’s not practiced in keeping his guard up for long. Or maybe the same broken thing in Dean that tells him to trust Castiel is in Sam.

“He came home for dinner,” the boy confesses, sounding his age for the first time since Castiel sat down, “but he wasn’t _there,_ not really. He had his phone in his hand the whole time, he barely spoke to us, and he didn’t…” Sam swallows hard. “He wouldn’t let anyone touch him.”

A myriad of vibrant, _violent_ thoughts sweep through Castiel.

 _Of course he doesn’t want you to touch him. He’s been traumatized, abused, mistreated. And_ you _people let it happen. Of course he doesn’t want you to touch him._

Then, _he’s saving all of his touching for me. It’s a privilege only I’m allowed now, one that I would fight and bleed and die for. You were selfish, careless with him, and now he’s mine._

Finally, _oh, my darling, beautiful, brave, perfect boy. We will be reunited soon, my love._

Castiel doesn’t move so much as one iota, and Sam is still talking.

“He’s distant now, and he keeps secrets. He’s never done that before.”

 _If only you knew._ “I fail to see how any of this is an indication of a definitive choice on Dean’s part.”

Sam gives him a level look. “Can we cut the bullshit? I have a feeling I’m outclassed, anyway, and we’ve only got another fifteen minutes here.”

Castiel allows himself a small smile. “Very well.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand why.”

_I saw him. I saw how alone he was, how frightened, how very small and defenseless he felt. I saw him, and I helped him, and God forgive me, I loved him. I love him so completely, so wholly. Even if I had a conscience, I would forsake it for him. I gave him back his power, his security. I destroyed what dared harmed him and I shall do so again, gladly and without being asked. He consumes me and I’m greedy for it. I will spend the rest of my life exalting in everything he is and does, and you are here because “you don’t get it.”_

But Castiel doesn’t say that.

“If it comforts you, I am his as much as he is mine.” The closest thing to honesty he’s able to achieve.

Sam slumps. “It really doesn’t.”

Castiel shrugs. “It’s all I have.”

Sam’s eyes are wide, pleading, and painfully young now. “When you get out, are you guys gonna bail?”

 _“If_ I am exonerated, I don’t know what the future holds, Sam.”

Sam nods again. Looking unsure, he bites his lips and his eyes dart down. “Do… Do you think he’ll let me come visit?”

Sam looks so much like Dean right now that Castiel’s heart gives a heavy, agonizing _thump_ in his chest. _Oh, my beloved, I miss you._

It’s not just the resemblance to Dean, though, it’s the _question._ The question that is a final admittance that only Dean can make that choice, that none of Dean’s family gets to demand or ignore his presence at will anymore. It’s a (rather redundant) forfeiture of control from the only family member who had a real chance of luring Dean away.

_Message received._

In the face of his victory, Castiel feels generous.

“I’m sure he will, Sam.”

* * *

_They’re in bed on their sides, facing one another. Dean has his face hidden against Castiel’s neck, his hands clutching at Cas’ shirt. Castiel can feel tears soaking his skin as Dean trembles in his arms._

_This, out of everything he’s ever done, tears at him. He presses a gentle, regretful kiss to the side of Dean’s head._

_“I’m so sorry, my beloved.”_

_“Wh-wh-what if you don’t come back?”_

_Cas’ arms tighten around Dean at the thought that this is their last night together. “Shh, of course I will. They have_ nothing, _beloved.”_

_“That agent seems to think they do! A-and you said they have e-e-enough to arrest you.” Dean is shaking so hard his words are becoming difficult to understand, and his voice is small and frightened._

_If only Castiel had been able to foresee that he would meet Dean, that his life was about to be changed forever. He never would have gotten bored, dissatisfied,_ restless _with his existence if he had known that every day brought him closer to Dean._

 _This cat and mouse game with the police. Clues left behind on purpose. Evidence that suggests Castiel but never actually accuses him. It’s just a way to teach that upstart Henriksen a lesson, a way to let him know once and for all that Castiel has always been and always will be_ better than him.

 _They have nothing but a mountain of circumstantial evidence, nothing solid. Castiel knows it, and Meg assures him of it. The prosecution has_ nothing _on him. Only because Henriksen will find a way to bypass and soothe any doubts will they move forward with an arrest._

_Meg has absolute confidence that they will win the trial, but she warned him of the possibility that it will drag out. It didn’t bother him at the time. It would be a change of scenery, at the least._

_But then there was_ Dean.

_Now, the possibility of spending months in prison is upsetting, heartbreaking, a bit terrifying. What if Dean moves on? What if Dean finds someone else? What if Dean realizes how dark and terrible Castiel really is while he’s gone? Would he be able to let Dean go? Not likely, but would he be able to harm Dean, either? Equally unlikely._

_“I-I-I just…” Dean hiccups again, another small sob. “I need you so much, Cas. I don’t want you to leave me.”_

_“I will_ never,” _Cas vows._ “Never, _Dean. Oh, my love, I love you far too much to leave you for good.” He presses his lips to Dean’s ear. “I will only be gone for a few months, beloved. Even if they convict me, I will find my way back to you. There is no force on Earth that will keep me away.”_

_Dean is crying in earnest now. “P-p-promise?”_

_“It is my solemn vow to you, beloved. This is not the last night we will spend together.”_

_Dean cries himself to sleep, and Castiel holds him through it._

* * *

Castiel smooths down the lapels of the sharply cut suit that Meg brought to him. He holds his arms out to his sides for her perusal.

“Well?”

“You clean up nice, Clarence,” she purrs from where she’s sitting on a table in the room they’ve been given to prepare for the closing arguments. “I’m sure your boy will agree.”

_I certainly hope so._

As the trial draws to a close, Castiel isn’t worried about the verdict. He’s not worried about his future, his medical license, or prison.

He _is_ worried about Dean.

Dean, who said he wouldn’t be able to bear seeing Castiel in prison. Who suggested that maybe downplaying their relationship (a flimsy, insufficient word to describe what they are to one another) would be best. Dean, who left their apartment before Castiel woke up the day of his arrest.

_Dean._

“Are you certain he’ll be here?”

Meg nods. “I’ve been in contact with him regularly, as you well know. He’ll be there.”

Castiel’s stomach tightens uncharacteristically with anxiety.

“Very well. Let’s go, then.”

* * *

“We, the jury, find the defendant, Dr. Castiel Novak, not guilty of multiple charges of first-degree murder.”

Henriksen shouts in defiance. The judge calls for order. Castiel lets tears shimmer in his eyes, purely for effect. Meg smirks.

It’s over.

* * *

Dean is waiting for him at the front steps. His is the only name on the list that Castiel gave the courthouse of people allowed through the police blockade. (Gabriel will probably be upset about that.)

The Angel of Thursday Killer is a media _sensation._ A twisted vigilante who kills murderers, rapists, thugs, and molesters. Half of the world loves him, the other half thinks he’s unhinged.

Mostly, though, the world doesn’t think he’s Dr. Castiel Novak.

(And no one considers that these people are the absolute dregs of humanity and, quite often, are so unmissed that their absence isn’t reported for _weeks._ Really, it’s just good judgement.)

In addition to an overwhelming lack of physical evidence, the mostly solid alibis Castiel had for four of the murders, and the act he put on during the trial, there was an unexpected boon while Cas was in prison.

Another murder. An absolute picture perfect Angel of Thursday murder. He almost wept when Meg told him.

And now here’s Dean, chewing on his lip bashfully with sparkling green eyes and a widening smile. He’s wearing a simple white button-down and dark jeans.

Castiel has never seen anything so utterly perfect.

“Cas,” Dean says as Castiel makes a beeline for him.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says just before wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist and kissing him so hard that he bends backwards. Dean clutches him closer, not from fear of falling, but from fear of ever having to be apart again.

Camera flashes would blind them if their eyes were open.

The picture is on the front pages of several newspapers the next day.

* * *

 _“Cas,”_ Dean gasps as Castiel yanks his shirt open, sending buttons skittering across the front hall of their apartment even as he kicks the door shut behind them.

“I told you,” Castiel says darkly, staring at Dean’s tan chest and flat belly hungrily. The skin is tragically unmarked by Castiel’s mouth, which is absolutely intolerable

“I told you,” Cas says again as he starts to advance on Dean. He watches predatorily as Dean backs up, hot green eyes glued to Castiel.

“That I would be back,” he continues, _stalking_ Dean back to their bedroom, “that there was no force on Earth that would keep me from you.”

Dean is biting his lip again as he sheds the remains of his shirt. His green eyes are almost _glowing_ with desire, with need. His chest is heaving with labored breathing and it’s driving Castiel _insane._

“Did you believe me?” he asks, voice low with want.

Dean nods frantically. “I did,” he wheezes. “I believed you, Cas.”

_“Good.”_

Dean gives a final gasp and Castiel is on him, wrapping a hand around the back of his head to head hold him still while Cas dominates his mouth. Dean immediately goes pliant in his arms except for his hands fisted in Cas’ shirt, desperately keeping him close. Castiel pushes him back into the bedroom until he feels Dean stumble and bump into the bed. He kisses his boy for another scorching moment before gently pushing Dean so he falls back onto the bed.

The sight of Dean sprawled there, a flush working its way down his lovely chest, pupils dilated, practically exuding a visceral _need,_ sends Castiel to his knees. It’s where he was going anyway, but it sends him there faster.

Because this is where he belongs. Kneeling before Dean, before this ethereal, beautiful, green-eyed deity who has so thoroughly enthralled him. Castiel wants to consume Dean, to drown in him. He wants to build monuments for Dean and then topple them, lest someone try to take him away.

He wants to give everything to Dean, and he wants everything Dean has in return.

“Cas,” Dean whines wantonly, pulling Castiel away from his fervent thoughts. He can see the outline of Dean’s cock already pressing against his fly.

“Oh, my love, I haven’t even touched you,” Castiel coos, utterly enthralled by this boy beneath him.

“Need you,” Dean whimpers. “Missed you so much.”

When he undoes the laces on Dean’s dress shoes and slips them off, Castiel’s hands don’t tremble, but it’s a near thing. He pulls off Dean’s socks, too, and tosses them behind him without looking. He’s normally much more fastidious, but he’s at the end of his rope.  He feels like he’ll have a stroke if he goes much longer without some part of Dean in his mouth.

With fast, sure movements, he reaches up to undo the button on Dean’s jeans and pull down the zipper. When Dean lifts his hips to help Castiel slides his jeans off without being asked, Cas’ heart thumps with adoration. When he sees the lacy blue panties that barely contain Dean’s cock, his mouth goes dry.

_“Dean.”_

Dean’s blush darkens, but his eyes stay confidently glued to Castiel. He knows there’s no judgement here, only affection and runaway desire.

“I want to do something nice for your first day back,” he says, so softly it’s almost a whisper.

Castiel leans forward to place a very gentle kiss on Dean’s hip just above the high waistband of his panties. “I love you so much,” he murmurs against the warm flesh.

“Love you, too.” Dean’s voice is sweet, and almost shy again. It sets Castiel’s blood on fire.

He lays a trail of chaste kisses down Dean’s leg, careful to avoid his cock, until Dean shifts and spreads his beautiful bow legs, giving Castiel full access to him. It’s a privilege that Castiel treasures.

He noses at the strong tendon high on the inside of Dean’s thigh. He can feel Dean start to faintly tremble in anticipation and he smiles. He waits until Dean starts to shift restlessly before biting _hard_ into the flesh and sucking brutally.

Castiel knows it hurts when he does this, but Dean presses into the pain instead of pulling away. His beautiful boy cries out and arches his back, his hands twisting in the sheets as Castiel sucks a big, dark, possessive mark into his leg.

When he finally releases his hold, he does it fast, too fast, and he relishes the way Dean hisses at the sting. He laps at the mark with his tongue lazily, waiting for Dean to relax again.

When he does, Castiel looks up at him. “How do you feel, beloved?”

Dean’s green eyes are glazed and hazy with pleasure. “Another one,” he demands. “Please.”

Cas’ eyebrows go up. Dean rarely asks for anything, despite Castiel’s assurances that he would give Dean the world if he only requested it. For him to do so now, just as Castiel was declared innocent, must mean…

“When you…” Dean swallows and his eyes, now clear, dart away from Cas’ face. “When you were gone, I… The ones you left before, they only lasted a few weeks, and then there was…” There are tears gathering in Dean’s eyes, much to Castiel’s utter horror. “There was nothing to show that I’m yours,” Dean finishes in a rough whisper.

Castiel immediately moves up so he can straddle Dean’s waist. He’s still wearing his suit, and Dean’s warmth immediately soaks through the thin fabric. He cups Dean’s face and kisses him gently but thoroughly until he’s whimpering and writhing beneath Castiel.

Finally, he pulls away and presses his forehead to Dean’s.

“I’m sorry, beloved, that I had to leave you.”

Dean’s hands are wrapped around Cas’ wrists. He shakes his head. “No, don’t, it’s okay, I’m just being-”

“You were hurt.” Castiel doesn’t want to listen to Dean downplay his pain. “You were hurting and lonely and I’m to blame. I’m so sorry, my love. Can you forgive me?”

Dean meets Cas’ eyes from a few inches away and Castiel is drowning in green, green, green.

“Yeah, Cas, ‘course. You know that.”

Castiel kisses him again, much harder this time. He _did_ know, but hearing it still lets him relax a little bit when he didn’t realize he was tense in the first place.

He kisses Dean’s cheeks, his eyelids, his forehead, and presses a gentle path of kisses to his ear, where he whispers, “May I make it up to you?”

Dean shudders beneath him at the promise in his voice and nods desperately. Castiel grins wickedly and nips at the shell of Dean’s ear. Dean’s breath goes ragged, and a thrill goes down Castiel’s spine.

_Mine._

He starts at Dean’s neck. He just nips here and there, leaving reddened marks and only one real bruise, small and low enough to hide beneath a shirt collar. Not that Castiel wants Dean to hide his marks, but Dean has a job at a local book editor’s office, and he has to maintain some sort of professionalism there.

He moves down to Dean’s collarbone, where the sprinkling of freckles that lives in his dreams is. He bites down hard there, making Dean arch into it again, and sucks another dark bruise that he soothes with his tongue until Dean loosens up. He continues down Dean’s chest, just beside his left nipple, his soft, flat belly, his hip bones, beneath his navel, and back to his thighs. He leaves several bruises along the insides of Dean’s thighs, layering them on top of one another so they’re dark and painful. The teeth marks around some of the bruises are deep and red, filling Castiel with a hot, possessive sense of satisfaction.

He realizes, vaguely, as he comes out of the sort of haze he was in while he was marking Dean up, that his cock is throbbing in his pants and that the head is sticking to his boxers from the amount of precome he’s been leaking. He looks up at his lover, who’s also leaking profusely. Dean’s hips are moving in desperate, aborted little thrusts and he’s whimpering from the back of his throat.

_God help me, he’s the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen._

“Shh, shh,” Castiel soothes, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to the newly mottled skin on Dean’s belly. “Shh, my love, I’m right here. Are you with me?”

 _“Yes,”_ Dean gasps. “Cas, please, I need you, please, I-”

“I know,” Cas says gently as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of Dean’s panties “I’m right here, my love. Just a few more minutes.”

He draws the panties down Dean’s legs, admiring the way his knees bow out a bit and the bruises they’re smattered with now, darker and more frequent the higher up one goes. It’s incredibly sexy, and Castiel is so busy looking that he almost misses the other surprise Dean has in store for him

Cas sucks in a sharp breath, fire surging through his veins and his cock giving an earnest, almost painful twitch.

_“Dean.”_

Dean moans and spreads his legs even further as soon as the panties are gone. He plants his feet on the end of the bed and tilts his hips up, showing off the little jewel at the base of the plug buried in his ass. It’s blue.

 _Matches the panties,_ Castiel thinks, delirious.

“Put it in before I went to the courthouse,” Dean whimpers, his hips still twitching and straining. “I put lube in there, too, too much, the plug is holding it in. You can just pull it out and fuck me, Cas. _Please_ pull it out and fuck me, I can’t take it anymore, please, please, please-”

As Dean deteriorates into desperate litanies of “please” and “Cas,” Castiel reaches out to run a finger around the puffy, reddened rim of Dean’s hole. Dean twitches and moans. Lust hits Cas like a freight train.

As much as he’d like to do as Dean asks, he’s still careful when he grips the base of the plug and pulls it out. At the widest point, it appears to be almost as wide as Castiel himself is, which he’s sure is a calculated move on Dean’s part. His lover likes the stretch and burn, likes to feel it the next day.

“So perfect,” Castiel murmurs as he pulls the plug out completely. As promised, lube comes out, too, enough that when Castiel thrusts three fingers into Dean, there’s plenty to spread around, making Dean cry out when he hits his prostate. Castiel continues to finger Dean while he uses his other hand to undo his own pants and push his briefs down just enough to pull his cock out.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Castiel says, the admission feeling like it’s been ripped from his lips. “So lovely, all for me.”

Dean is nodding frantically. “For you, all for you, Cas, _please-”_

Cas takes his fingers out slowly and uses what lube is left on them to slick up his cock. He stands, _finally,_ and helps Dean to shift closer to the center of the bed so he can crawl on top of him, eyeing all of the marks littered across his body again with satisfaction.

“I’m never leaving you unmarked again,” he promises darkly. “You’ll never wonder again if you’re mine.”

“Always knew it,” Dean says immediately as his hands come up to fist in Cas’ shirt to pull him closer. “Always knew, never doubted, _please fuck me-”_

At that, Castiel crashes his mouth against Dean’s, cutting off his plea at the same time as he lines up and thrusts into Dean, completely sheathing himself in one hard push.

Dean _screams_ into Cas’ mouth, but again he arches into him, his legs coming to clamp around Cas’ waist. His hands scrabble against the suit jacket Cas is still wearing, always trying to pull him closer.

Cas sets up a brutal pace, slamming into Dean so hard he has to wrap one hand beneath and around Dean’s shoulder to keep him from moving away. Dean is crying out and meeting him thrust for thrust. There’s a sheen of sweat covering Dean and his eyes are scrunched shut in pleasure. He’s the most incredible thing Castiel has ever had the honor to see.

_And he’s mine._

“Yours,” Dean agrees, and Cas realizes he growled his thoughts aloud. “All yours, only yours.”

Dean’s desperate, fast words make the hot pleasure in Cas’ gut coil tighter and grow. “Say it again,” he snaps.

“Yours. I’m yours, Cas,” Dean says. “Oh, fuck, I’m gonna come. Yours, yours, baby, I’m yours, I’m gonna-”

It takes the barest stroke of Cas’ hand on Dean’s cock to send him into orgasm, arching his back and screaming again as his release takes him. Castiel almost doesn’t realize that he’s about to follow Dean over the precipice he’s so taken with the sight of Dean coming apart beneath him.

His own orgasm is intense and all-consuming for several moments. He leans down and bites Dean’s shoulder as he comes, thrusting hard and losing himself in the aching pleasure washing over him. He didn’t touch himself at all while he was in prison. He didn’t expect Dean to do the same, in fact he doubts very much that Dean did, but neither did he ask him to.

Everything Castiel has belongs to Dean now. _Everything._

When he comes back to himself, he’s lying bonelessly on top of a limp Dean, teeth still buried in his shoulder. Dean is running a languid, soothing hand up and down his back and appears to be humming happily under his breath.

Castiel releases Dean’s flesh slowly, knowing the pain is more acute outside the throws of passion. Dean sucks in a sharp breath, and Castiel does the same when he gets a good look.

The skin is broken in a couple of places and it’s bleeding sluggishly. The area around the bite is swelling and bruising.

It’s _spectacular._

Castiel lays a tender kiss on the mark. “You’re bleeding,” he says softly, reverently.

“Really?” When he looks, Dean’s eyes are shining with warm happiness.

Castiel smiles. “Indeed. It might scar, even.”

Dean beams up at him lazily. “Awesome. I hope so.”

Castiel just stares down at Dean, studying his every feature, his heart still beating too hard for comfort in his chest. His Dean, who literally crashed into his brutal, grey life and brought color and softness. Dean, who saw the darkness in Castiel’s heart and claimed it for himself, anyway.

Dean, who _killed a man_ for Castiel.

As silly as it sounds, Dean killing that man while Castiel was in prison, emulating his technique and methods so precisely no one was the wiser, was the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for Castiel.

He leans down to kiss Dean gently, sweetly. Dean responds in kind, wrapping a hand around the back of Cas’ neck to keep him there (as if he’d ever be anywhere else).

“Love you,” Dean whispers against his lips.

“And I, you, beloved.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **TW #1:** In this fic, Dean has just come out of an extremely physically and emotionally abusive relationship. No abuse happens in the fic. Dean's family is also very callous and uncaring about the abuse Dean went through.
> 
>  **TW#2:** During sex, Castiel unthinkingly bites Dean hard enough to draw blood. Dean's OK with it, but they do not discuss it beforehand.
> 
> \- Let me know what you think! I'm kind of nervous about this one, lol.


End file.
